Catch a wave and you’re sittin’ on top of the world

Berry D. Simpson

I’ll just say right up front, I enjoyed surfing lessons more than I expected to. I can’t claim to have surfed in the purest sense of the word, but I was up on my feet on my board at least two times, maybe three (depending on your minimum threshold of verticality).

I never thought of surfing as something I could do, but the momentum of the group swept me along. If Britt hadn’t tried it, I doubt I would have, either. If Drew (who’ll try anything) hadn’t proposed it, if Patti (who loves the water and the beach) and Cyndi (who loves to move) hadn’t found the instructor and signed us all up, it never would have occurred to me to look for it. However, there we were, Monday morning in Kauai, six Texans at Hanamaulu Beach Park for surfing lessons. It was a great beach with smooth sand, free of rocks, and the waves were perfect for us. I had no excuses.

My resistance to surfing had nothing to do with my age, as some may’ve suspected, but with water. I really have no confidence in things that happen in the water. My people are not water people. As my mom recently reminded me, “We don’t like to have our head in the water.”

However, in spite of that family tradition, I was not afraid of drowning or injury. No, I was afraid to look stupid, which is much scarier than getting hurt.

It would be fair and accurate to say that I have no intrinsic athletic ability at all. I didn’t play sports through school save mandatory P.E. classes. As an adult, I run too slow, weigh too much, limp too often, and quit too soon. I took up running in 1978 for one reason only - to win back my girlfriend who had been dating a track-and-field jock. It’s true that I’ve recently taken up cycling again, but that hardly qualifies me as an athlete. Running and cycling demand endurance and tolerance of discomfort more than athletic grace and skill.

Surfing caused me to wonder: how many other adventures are out there - not just scary ones, but fun ones - where all I need is someone to sign me up, and a group of friends to sweep me along. Maybe I should give myself more credit and try more often; make my default answer, “Sure, I’ll try that!”

Well, courage and risk come in a variety of ways. On Friday, the next week back in Midland, I had a chance to go cycling with a good friend who was in the USA for a month. Cycling with Todd was an opportunity for an extended conversation with a valued Christian friend. However, since it was going to be just the two of us riding, I also knew it would be hard cycling. Todd is a coach at heart and I knew he would push me to ride faster and maybe ride further. To ride with him was to take an intentional risk in hope of moving up another level.

What was the big risk? That I would fall apart in front of someone I didn’t want to fall apart in front of and have to limp home, or worse, call home for Cyndi to come get me. I might embarrass myself in front of a friend, which, as all men know, can be worse than death.

Todd and I rode to Odessa and back, a 47-mile round trip from my house, and a long way for someone like me. In addition, we rode at least 2 mph faster than I would’ve ridden by myself. I spent the rest of the weekend telling my story and beating my chest. I was a proud and happy man.

Don’t get me wrong. I know the difference between what I did and what real cyclists do. The riding speed that I was so proud of didn’t even approach what Todd rides regularly back home in Saudi Arabia, and it was less that 40% of what Tour de France cyclists do over the same distance. I also know that standing upright on a surfboard for a cumulative 20 seconds is hardly surfing worth a Beach Boys’ song.

I’m not deceived by my efforts, but still, my mind is different today that it was three weeks ago. I’m a different man on the inside. Sometimes something happens that makes you think of yourself in a different category, allows you to use new adjectives inside your head. It is a mental step forward. It is a gift.

My advice? Spend time with faster people, and let them pull you into the future. Being brave and trying new things is part of growing up. Admitting fear, even over small things that no one else thinks are scary, and risking failure in front of friends, is learning to be a man. Accepting help is often all it takes to push through the fear to the fun. As Erwin McManus wrote, “You can’t just sit back and hope that the life you long for will simply come to you.” (Wide Awake)

Oh, and by the way, I have considered buying some official board shorts to signify my new status as a surfer. Any suggestions? This is all new to me.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Ocean Waves

by Berry Simpson

There I was sitting on the porch, facing south, elevated about the second-floor level (the entire house was elevated with parking underneath), watching the ocean waves come in to the tiny neighborhood beach, named Baby Beach. We got up about 5:45 AM, which seems preposterous being on vacation and all, but the jet lag still had us in its clutches and the house was all windows and the rising sun was very bright.

The rhythm of the waves crashing into the beach was hypnotic - a cliché’, but true - every wave sounded different from those before and after, yet they all sounded just alike. The earth’s meditative breathing. Add the breeze blowing through palm trees and the result was captivating and peaceful. It’s easy to see how someone could get trapped all day listening to this siren song.

There on the porch I read in my Daily Bible about the fall of Israel to Assyria, and how the disaster and preceding three-year siege wasn’t really about Assyria at all. It was about Israel’s willful disobedience that lasted generation after generation. God simply used the Assyrians because they happened to be conveniently located and timely powerful.

To be honest, I was actually hoping for something a little lighter on this fine Hawaiian morning. With coffee in hand, ocean waves in view, surrounded by the smells and sounds of Poipu, Kauai, it seemed to be the wrong story. Why couldn’t my daily reading have been from Psalms, about how wonderful God is and how his loving hand is so obvious in nature on mornings like this? Or even Isaiah 51:15 (“For I am the Lord your God, who churns up the sea so that its waves roar”). Why not that? Wouldn’t that have been more appropriate, more beneficial?

But in my peaceful bliss of the morning I saw how easy it could be to be lulled into complacency by the view and the experience, never moving all day, like being trapped in an endless Jimmy Buffett song, life drifting away. It was easy to imagine how the people of Israel could be so caught up in the rhythm their military successes, financial victories, put to sleep by their own soothing sounds, and convincing themselves they were just fine, thank you. All this success was to their own credit and they didn’t need God after all, until it was all over.

I once heard a motivational speaker, Jim Rohn, say, “Casual living breeds casualties.” He didn’t mean we could never be casual, never wear shorts and flip-flops. And he didn’t mean we should never be captured by the Pacific Ocean waves. He meant that if we don’t take the path of our life seriously there will come a time when the Assyrian army is at our gate and we will have lost our last chance.

Well, back on the porch, Cyndi woke me up from my (as she once called it) meditating and stuff. We walked down to the Spouting Horn with Patti and Katie. I’d had enough casual relaxing; time for serious shopping.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32 

Journal entry 071912: Ocean Waves 

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Is Getting Lost Part of the Adventure?

Getting lost while driving is a different sort of problem nowadays because of smart phones. It’s easier to recover.

Cyndi and I recently spent a weekend being lost while driving in Santa Fe, which some would say is a redundant statement, but it wasn’t so bad.  No matter where we were, we could pull over, input the destination address, and the mapping ap would plot a solution for driving. It even provided alternate routes, as if we had enough local knowledge to make an informed choice. And you know what? Getting lost isn’t so bad if you are with someone you love who doesn’t argue.

Our second morning in Santa Fe, while driving to Cyndi’s workshop, we missed an obscure “Y” in the road and ended up about 90-degrees off prime. We ended up driving half way to Glorieta on I-25 North (which, of course, goes south) before doubling back to the correct location. I think Cyndi was the last attendee to arrive. The gate tender was standing in the road waiting for us.

The disadvantage of using a phone to navigate is you only get a small detailed picture of where you are and where you are going. Most of the time I need a wider view of life than my phone screen offers. Another disadvantage is that only the navigator can see the map. It’s too small for both driver and navigator to follow.

So after delivering Cyndi to her workshop I found a place to camp out and enjoy Sunday morning coffee and newspapers. I unfolded my large analog city map and retraced our morning routes, including wrong turns and missed opportunities, and figured out where we went wrong and how we recovered. I felt much better about the entire experience once I had it in my head.

I wonder why no one has invented a “Where Did I Go Wrong” phone ap that retraces the previous hour’s driving and deconstructs exactly how the driver got off-track. With an ap like that I could identify the first error that cascaded into deep lostness.

Even better, maybe the paid version of the ap could point out where I first went wrong on my last job, or most recent blunder with Cyndi, or even identify the bad assumption I used that cascaded into an intractable mess. That would be worth $9.99.

However, looking over past mistakes is only useful when plotting a future course. Going forward, I am a wide-angle view kind of guy. I need to see a bigger picture before drawing conclusions. I need a large-scale paper map alongside my phone to really do my best.

Unlike Cyndi, I am not a kinesthetic learner. I will never understand a place simply by driving around. I need a mental picture of the roads and how they relate to each other, and the sooner I use a map during my exploring phase, the quicker I get the image of the layout, and the better I understand the city.

And, just being honest here, I also need maps to understand relationships, or theology, or history, or marathon training, or whatever. My mind needs as much data as possible before zooming down to the detail level. In fact, I can’t grasp which details are important until I have them all in front of me.

There have been occasions when Cyndi and I worked together to lead a workshop and our opposing styles for preparation clashed. Cyndi, being a professional teacher, can go from abstract to concrete almost immediately. Once she senses the core of a lesson, she relentlessly pursues the final result and cranks it out quickly. For Cyndi, the work comes after she knows her destination.

Not me. I never know the final target of a lesson, or an essay, or a speech, or a workshop, or even a book, until I pile all the available data on the table and start sifting. For me, the destination comes only after I do the work.

So we are leaving for a vacation this weekend, maybe our first pure vacation in ten years, to Kauai, and I don’t think I have a good road map yet. I have a spreadsheet mapping out our days, but I have no confidence for driving. Fortunately, we are traveling with great friends, so it will be OK if we get lost together. It just adds to of the adventure.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

Journal entry 070512: Is Getting Lost Part of the Adventure?

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Warrior scholar

“Berry, what are you doing?” Cyndi asked.

I was quite surprised that she wasn’t asleep already since she’d been horizontal for a good thirty seconds.

“I’m reading my book. I want to get in another chapter before going to sleep.”

“Why are you holding the bug zapper?”

“I want to get rid of that irritating housefly that keeps strafing my head.”

It was at this point in the evening when trouble started. Cyndi was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe.

“You look so funny lying there, book in one hand, bug zapper in the other,” she said.

“Just think of me as a warrior-scholar.”

“Ooh, a warrior-scholar?”

“Well, I am reading Quantum Man, about particle physicist Richard Feynman. The book is good and fun to read but almost all of the physics is way over my head. I have no idea what they are talking about most of the time, so it makes me feel very scholarly.”

“So what about the warrior part? You are holding a plastic bug zapper.”

“Well, this is not a toy. This is serious bug-zapping technology. I am making your life, and your side of the bed, safer and more comfortable, by going into combat for you.”

“A real warrior. Wow.”

“Remember that time at the ranch when I killed hundreds of wasps with a vacuum cleaner? This zapper would have been even better?”

“Easier?”

“Well, not easier, but more satisfying.”

Then she said, “This reminds me of the time when you were drinking ice water out of a coffee pot while reading your book. I still can’t get that image out of my mind.”

“I had to drink out of the coffee pot because the hotel room only had flimsy little plastic cups. They were worthless. And I had just run four miles in 90-degree heat. I needed to rehydrate.”

"I can just picture you sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, reading your book, and drinking ice-water out of a coffee pot. Why didn't you just drink out of the ice bucket?"

"Because the ice bucket was too big to hold with one hand."

Once again, Cyndi was too proud of my ingenuity to speak. She just held her sides with both arms and laughed and laughed. After about five minutes I interrupted her and asked, "Why are you still laughing about something that happened in Farmington, New Mexico, in 1998?"

“Seeing you in bed holding your book and the bug zapper at the same time reminded me.”

“Well, you’re laughing so hard you’re shaking the bed. This book is hard enough to read without all the bouncing.”

“So what happens to the housefly when you zap it? Will it fall into the bed? Will the flaming bug parts set our bed on fire?”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I should get the fire extinguisher just in case. The instructions did say that not only do you get rid of the fly, you get a satisfying poof of smoke.”

So, if Cyndi appeared more tired than usual last Friday, it wasn’t my fault. No matter what she may’ve said. She just wouldn’t go to sleep.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

Journal Entry 022812: Warrior scholar

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Lost and found in Santa Fe

The trip started well. Cyndi and I both made it through airport security, again; a pleasant reminder that we are STILL not terrorists.

We were in Santa Fe, and following our usual pattern, I was entertaining myself while Cyndi attended a workshop. For me, driving around Santa Fe means being lost most of the time, and my first adventure happened when the quaint coffee shop I discovered from AroundMe wasn’t anywhere around where I could find it. Those phone aps aren’t yet good enough to vector you all the way to the front door of a hidden coffee shop. I later read this review: “Great coffee, but hard to find the place.” I can testify to the second part of that.

After Cyndi’s class, and after we investigated some uber-cool stone fountains at Santa Fe Stone, which Cyndi wanted to bring home in her carryon luggage, we wound our way to Canyon Road for lunch. Since it was so difficult to find a parking place along the narrow road, Cyndi thought we should maximize our efforts by combining a bit of shopping with lunch. Fortunately, there was a hip clothing store across the street from our restaurant.

It was great. The clothes were beautiful, and they had a comfy husband couch where I could sit and watch. Cyndi bought a clingy bluish dress. Then she tried on a black dress that was, well, stunning on her. Seeing her in that dress, imagining being with her while she was wearing it, left me breathless. (I was actually prepared for something like this to happen. There is another story about trying on clothes in Santa Fe from 1996, but Cyndi hasn’t given me permission to release it into the wild.)

She danced around the room from mirror to mirror, oblivious to her effect on everyone in the store, trying to decide whether to spend the money on the dress. Later, the two women working there said my eyes never left her. “You should buy that dress just for look in his eyes,” they said.

Cyndi, feeling frugal, said she’d think about it and we left for lunch. Later in the day, she decided maybe it was OK to spend the money and get the dress. I wrote down the address and put it in my pocket.

The next morning I wound my way down Canyon Road again, re-found the store, and bought the dress. I told the woman, “I can’t wait for a fancy date,” and she said, “I know, I can tell.”

So all of that was on my mind at noon when I finally found a hamburger place that served green chile on their burgers. The hamburger was excellent, and I felt the tingle of the chile on my lips for at least an hour.

While eating I read from my Daily Bible, and the day’s selection was from the Old Testament book of Hosea.

I’ll be honest. I can hardly read Hosea because the story is too painful for me to contemplate. God asked Hosea the prophet to marry “an adulterous wife” because God wanted to illustrate his own pain when his followers decided to chase after other gods. Hosea’s wife, Gomer, cheated on him, left him, and he took her back. Hosea went through all that heartbreak in order to tell God’s story. But when I read it, it seems too much for anyone to bear. How could God ask that of anyone?

And knowing Hosea’s story, how can I pray for God’s will in my own life? Would I be willing to sacrifice my life with Cyndi just so I could understand God better? Would I be willing to give up those moments - Cyndi in the black dress, Cyndi dancing, being together on Guadalupe Peak, or together playing with our granddaughter? Could I give that up if God asked me to?

And if I gave it all up, would I then be able to use it to teach about God’s broken heart? I don’t think so. I think I would crumple down and fade away.

But here is the question: When I read the book of Hosea, why do I always assume my place in the story is Hosea, the cheated-on, rather than as Gomer, the cheater? Why do I assume I would be the blameless faithful broken-hearted one instead of assuming my place is the adulterous cold-hearted unfaithful one?

I know the answer. It is my own arrogance. I always assume I will be consistently faithful to God, and my own unfaithful moments, if there are any, are trivial and shouldn’t really count against me. How arrogant and misguided is that? Who do I think I am?

When I realize the book of Hosea is about whether God will always take us back, that changes everything. I should look forward to reading it every year. It isn’t about loss, but about grace.

God always gives us another chance to capture breathtaking moments with him. He will always take us back, even from our own arrogance.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32 

Journal entry 062112: Lost and found in Santa Fe, by Berry D Simpson

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

The voice of calling

by Berry D. Simpson

Who has influenced you? Specifically, who has influenced your message and your search for meaning?

Looking back over more than twenty-five years of writing, I realize that understanding and communicating God’s personal calling has been important to me since the beginning of my modern era. As far back as high school, I felt there was a call, a purpose, to my life, but I didn’t understand it or know how to explore it. It was more of an ambient thought in the back of my mind that I was aware of but didn’t know what to do with.

That is, until 2002, when a friend loaned me a set of cassette tapes (“Here, this seems to be the sort of thing you would like”). The tapes were from a workshop by Gary Barkalow, who was with Focus on the Family at the time. Gary has since become my friend, but at the time, I’d never heard of him or his ministry. However, his workshop was the freshest thing I’d ever heard about God’s will and calling. And not only that, I hadn’t heard anyone use video clips while teaching, and I took notice how effective it was.

I was between jobs at the time, searching for the next thing, begging God for insight. To keep myself occupied I was building bookshelves in my garage, so I listened to those workshop tapes repeatedly while working, day after day. I eventually had to make copies so I wouldn’t wear them out before returning them to my friend. Besides the fact that I was actively seeking employment, I expect the reason Gary’s message resonated so strongly with me was that it was something I’d been thinking for a long time but didn’t know how to articulate it.

The workshop reminded me that God was more concerned with our character than with our next employer. He cared more about the path of our life than about each of our individual choices. He didn’t have to change his perfect plan every time we made a bad decision because his perfect plan was to train us up, grow us up, to be like Jesus, and he did that through all our decisions whether good or bad.

Our calling from God was NOT about career or job. In fact, I had always assumed God had called me to be a petroleum engineer and a Bible teacher, and maybe a writer, but those were merely assignments, the tools God gave to put my calling into action.

Well, all that information changed the way I taught and the content of every lesson from that day forward.

I recently returned to those roots of the calling message in the process of fine-tuning one of my favorite ministries, Journey Partner Groups. I searched my files for the notes I took back in 2002 when I first heard this talk, but I couldn’t find them. I told Cyndi, “I can picture what they looked like, but I cannot find them.” I am always stunned whenever I can’t find something. It is a complete shock that they aren’t exactly where I thought they should be.  So, I started over. I dug out the CDs I’d made from the original workshop tapes, and listened again. I am glad I did.

I’ve realized that God’s call was for me is to give away what I’ve learned, to share my heart, whether engineering or writing or teaching. In effect, my call is to tell the story.

I realized that every lesson I taught or every essay I published or every conversation I joined, all ended up focusing on one of these topics: growing closer to God every day, becoming a life-long student, pursuing your love, or growing stronger in community. That was the story I had to tell.

I also had a desire to break down the barriers we westerners erect dividing the spiritual life from the secular. I believe everything is spiritual, whether preaching or cycling, singing or backpacking, studying or running marathons.

Listening to that workshop again reminded me of how much my life has changed since 2002. In addition to the calling message, Gary introduced me to Wild at Heart, by John Eldredge, which soon became a men’s book study in my church led by me, which morphed into the Iron Men group, which established itself as a major ministry marker in my life for the past eight years. In 2002, I saw none of those changes coming. It was all a surprise.

I have been fortunate to be influenced by powerful men throughout my life, and it is my desire to be one of those men for the people around me. Gary Barkalow is now leading his own ministry, Noble Heart, and I encourage you to investigate his teaching and read his book, It’s Your Call. It might change the rest of your life.

QUESTIONS: Who has influenced you, influenced your message?

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32 

 To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 060712: Julia Grace

I’ve lived a fortunate life. On several occasions, I’ve seen the human face of God’s grace in unmistakable ways, and it catches my breath every time. The deepest examples of grace always seem to show up in the most private and quiet ways never seeking attention or notice. Here is the story of my most recent encounter.

A few months ago some of our great friends received hard news about her pregnancy. The baby she was carrying had Patau Syndrome, also known as trisomy 13, a condition in which a baby has an additional chromosome 13. The extra chromosome disrupts the normal course of development, and the outlook for such babies is bleak. The survivability rate is near zero.

If there was any good news from this, it was that the Patau Syndrome was not inherited, but occurred as a random event. I shouldn’t happen a second time. Still, even random bad news is hard to accept.

The Bible says in Genesis that humans were created in the image of God, and says in Ecclesiastes that we have eternity in our hearts. Infinity in our hearts. I believe that means humans were created to live in a reality bigger than ourselves, in stories bigger than our own. That capacity is one of the things that make us human, and when we engage the bigger world, the transcendent, we become more fully alive.

I also believe that, as humans, we are obligated to leave our fingerprints on everything and everyone within our reach. It is our duty to leave our mark on as much of the world around us as we can. Not only that, as believers, we have an additional obligation, to leave fingerprints that look more and more like Jesus.

So, when our friends received the bad news about their baby, named Julia Grace, they were given several options for going forward, including terminating the pregnancy. However, they were determined to love Julia for as long as possible, for as much as possible. They would pray for a miracle healing, and in the meantime, leave their mark on her unborn heart and soul.

I couldn’t help but think about this story last Sunday morning, three days before Julia Grace was born. The choir in our church sang a song titled, “He Knows My Name.”

     I have a Maker

     He formed my heart

     Before even time began

     My life was in his hands

     He knows my name

     He knows my every thought

     He sees each tear that falls

     And he hears me when I call

     (“He Knows My Name,” by Tommy Walker)

As I sat in the church orchestra playing my part, I thought of Julia Grace and her mom and dad. Julia Grace is no stranger to God. He knows her name.

So Julia Grace was born Wednesday afternoon, and she was held and loved for twenty minutes. Then she was gone.

Who knows if babies in the womb have any awareness of their situation. Actually, I hope not, since they are in such a boring environment. However, if they are aware of anything at all, Julia must know she was loved and valued her entire life. That’s not a small thing.

The story of Julia Grace and her mom and dad is what grace looks like, and I am honored to have been close enough to see it.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32 

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 053112: Moving again

If you notice I’m happier nowadays, which is something Cyndi says is not easy to recognize, it’s because I’m moving again. After seven weeks recovering from foot surgery, I’m back on the road.

Tuesday night, or late afternoon, or whatever you call 5:30 PM when it doesn’t get dark for three more hours, I rode sixteen miles on my bike, making it back home in plenty of time for Taco Tuesday with  family and friends. As with most rides in West Texas, part of it was a hard grind into the wind, the other part was flying with a tail wind. As I was feeling sorry for myself because I had to fight the wind, it occurred to me - since I won’t be moving to another less-windy part of the country any time soon, and since I expect to keep riding for a long time, I might as well learn to enjoy riding into the wind. I should stop complaining and learn to own it.

Only a fool complains about the same obstacle over and over, as if surprised each time the same problem comes around. For example, complaining about the crowds at Christmas, or the price of gasoline, or the slow service at restaurants in a town with 3% unemployment, or complaining about the wind. Foolish. On the one hand, you shouldn’t be surprised at something that happens repeatedly; on the other hand, you should embrace it and learn to cope or go away and do something else. I may have to write that philosophy on my bike handlebars so I won’t complain about riding into the wind.

Sorry. I meant to write about healing, not take off on complaining.

I have been riding my bike for about a week and a half now, accumulating 123 miles since discarding my crutches and protective boot. In fact, I was so proud after my first couple of rides I forgot that I hadn’t really moved at all in the previous seven weeks. I was exhausted and drained for several evenings in a row. I’m slowly catching up.

However, my foot is still too swollen to fit into a cycling shoe, so I can’t clip in. I am riding in my New Balance running shoes. Since they are the only shoes I can wear, I’m doing everything in them: going to work, going to church, riding bikes, playing with my granddaughter.

Last Monday, while riding west on the newest portion of Mockingbird Lane, I passed two young boys on their own bikes. It reminded me of when I got my first big-boy bike for Christmas. I was about six years old and we lived in Kermit, Texas. My parents bought me a huge Roadmaster single-speed with coaster brakes and fenders. It was mostly black and, as it turned out, nearly indestructible. I rode it until buying a Volkcycle ten-speed in high school.

The Roadmaster was so big my legs weren’t long enough to reach the pedals at the bottom of the stroke so my dad bolted 2x4 blocks on both sides of both pedals. I was fine with that. It was long before I fell in love with cool cycling gear. All I cared about back then was moving down the road.

Well, passing those young boys on Mockingbird Lane also reminded me how grateful I am to friend, Mark, and brother, Carroll, for dragging me back into cycling. Thanks, guys.

My first rides after surgery were on my Fuji town bike since it has giant platform pedals. But lately I’ve been riding my Specialized road bike. Riding without clips is not the most efficient transfer of energy, but who cares. I am moving again. And when my legs are moving, my brain is more creative, and my heart is more open. It is a formula I cannot resist.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 052412: Prototype

Where do you get your best ideas?

I recently pulled a book that I’d previously read from my library shelf, something I do on a regular basis to refresh my memory of the highlighted parts. This time I grabbed Speechless, by Stephen Curtis Chapman and Scotty Smith. On page 20 is says, “For me, music is more than a vocation or ministry. It’s a means by which I come to a deeper understanding of the heart of God and the astonishing reality of his grace.”

There was a time I couldn’t imagine song writing as a discovery tool. I thought it was a giving-away tool; not a “means of understanding,” but a “revelation of understanding;” not how you learned truth but how you told truth. I say that because that’s also how I viewed writers and writing. I didn’t suspect that writers wrote to learn more; I thought they wrote to give away what they’d already learned.

I was exactly wrong about that. The more I write, the more I realize I seldom know what I’m writing about until after my pen starts moving. Many times the meaning of something I wrote doesn’t show up until I began editing. As I move words around and tweak grammar, the real idea slowly shows up.

Because of writing, I’ve begun to understand how so many other parts of life behave the same way. The best ideas come after beginning. My engineering roots want me to think through a process from beginning to end, work out objectives and goals, understand resources and purpose, all before beginning. However, I seldom know the most important questions to ask at the beginning, I only get those after I start.

It’s hard for me to believe, but I am now much more comfortable learning and designing on the fly, leaving wiggle room for change along the process, knowing that my own idea at the beginning won’t be as good as a consensus idea at the end. I think now that too much planning in the beginning can be restrictive and limiting.

What does this mean? For writing it means I don’t expect to understand something I write until after I finish it. I look forward to learning what it will be about and don’t’ try to force a direction or a path.

Even in my current assignment in petroleum engineering I’ve learned not to apply too much structure in the beginning of a new assignment. Instead, I’ll start gathering data, draw some graphs, try manipulating numbers, and wait to see if something leaps off my computer screen. I am much more likely to have an original insight if I don’t direct the process so much from the beginning.

I understand why planning and process is important, and when I load my backpack for a backcountry trip I think long and hard about every item I load. I am pretty rigid about things that are important for survival.

And I also realize that when running a large organization, or even a church, there has to be structure and discipline or it will be an ineffective mess. But to depend totally on structure, well where is the rhythm and blues in that?

And another thing: God speaks most directly to me on-the-fly. I have few examples of God’s guidance in the beginning of a project, but countless examples of God speaking once the process has begun.

I track my change in thinking back to another library-shelf book, The Art of Innovation, by Tom Kelley, a book I read in 2001, then again in 2011. The biggest idea I learned from this book was to use prototypes. Before then I had the habit of spending too much time working and reworking a system (process, spreadsheet, marathon training schedule, garage clean-out, calendar, and on and on) before I’d actually begin anything. I wanted my plans to be comprehensive yet flexible, complete yet sustainable. Even more, I didn’t want to have to stop and rethink or design once I had started. And as you’ve already guessed, I often exhausted my initiative on the design and never actually started the project.

That word, prototype, changed my life. Nowadays I consider everything I do to be a prototype and I start looking for changes and improvements immediately. And I expect God to speak loudest after the prototype phase begins.

I suppose it’s accurate to say that spiritual maturity is only a prototype. As in, “Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity.” (1 Corinthians 13:12, NLT)

We are always growing. We are never the finished product. Consider yourself a spiritual prototype and throw yourself into ministry. The only time to learn where you need improving is after you’ve started.

QUESTION: What is one big idea you learned after you got started?

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 051712: Foot chronicles

“In your fifties, you’ll have a minor surgery. You’ll call it a procedure, but it’s a surgery.” (Mitch Robbins, in City Slickers)

I had my own procedure March 30 - a bunion removal and ligament repair on my right foot. It was my first hospital stay since about 1961.

My foot didn’t hurt at all, even when I was in the hospital. I suppose there were times when it ached a bit, but the medicine hid any real discomfort. The nurses kept asking my level of pain, between 1 and 10, and I told them a 4 so they would feel good about doing their jobs, but it was actually nothing more than a 3. Or 2.

Using the photos I took at my first post-surgery doctor visit, I counted 62 stitches in five places on my right foot. That was a lifetime-high stitch count for me.

One benefit to being on crutches: I no longer felt guilty using the handicap stall in my office men’s room.

My only real complaint has been awkwardness. It was hard to carry anything when on crutches, but I compensated by using my backpack for everything. About the only thing I wasn’t eventually able to carry was a case of Diet Cokes. I tried pushing a grocery cart by resting my booted foot on the cart and pushing off with my other foot like a scooter, but it was spectacularly unsuccessful. I should stay away from that particular grocery store for a while.

I invented a series of stories to describe what happened to my foot, since a friend said I needed a better story: (1) My clumsy wife stepped on my foot during our audition for a dance contest; (2) My foot got caught in a bear trap during my last mountain adventure trail marathon at mile 10 and I had to hop the last 16.2 miles; (3) In a fit of recklessness I tried on my wife’s high steppers and wrecked my trilateral tendon; and (4) I shouldn’t have tried to carry my William Wallace claymore sword on my bicycle.

After using an elevator regularly for the first time in years, I wondered: Why, since modern elevators were invented in 1852, was there still no “clear” button in case I selected the wrong floor (or found myself riding with Buddy the Elf).

After about four weeks, my foot took on an irritating stinging itch. I blamed the heat inside my boot, or even the glue and strapping tape the doctor used after removing stitches. People tried to convince me that it was part of the healing process. Maybe, but it kept me awake at night.

In general, wonder how often we have to go through pain and irritation in order to heal. Is that a constant and predictable part of every process? I expect to go through pain to get better as a runner or cyclist, and I suppose as a politician, writer, or teacher. Maybe all healing, all improvement, requires pain and discomfort along the path.

What I’ve missed most is movement, since I can’t run or bike. It didn’t bother me at first, but I soon started to feel like a compressed spring. My last venture was a 24-mile bike ride on Thursday, the day before surgery.

My original plan was to do home workouts during the immobile phase, such as sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, and planks. I even had a schedule worked out on paper. However, healing tapped all my energy and I did little actual working out. That surprised and disappointed me.

Here is a typical post-surgery doctor visit: He unwraps my foot, pokes it a little bit, wraps it back up with glue and strapping tape and gauze, and sends me home. This happened weekly for six weeks. I suppose any visit when the doctor doesn’t jump back gasping in shock is a good visit.

I have been amazed how many people will trot across a parking lot to open a door for a stranger on crutches. It makes me happy for mankind. My sister-in-law, Tanya, says it’s because we live in Midland.

After six weeks, Dr. Glass pulled the scary pin-splints out of my toes and removed the remaining stitches. He made me stay in the boot another week so the pinholes would heal. I interpreted that to mean the bones were fine and we were waiting on skin closure, which I then interpolated to walking in my boot without crutches. I didn’t ask the doctor if that was correct because he might disagree. I just acted on my own. I am, after all, a trained engineer.

Week seven; my last time to park in a handicap slot was this morning at the doctor’s office. I’m planning to retire my red placard, even though it’s good until October.

This morning I walked out of the doctor’s office wearing two shoes, no boot. I drove home, pulled out my Fuji bike, and rode 7.41 slow miles. It was more of a comeback statement than effective exercise. It was wonderful.

There is nothing sentimental about setting aside crutches or a boot. It falls in the “good riddance” category.

I have photos of my foot: before and after, stitches, pins, etc., and I will email them to you if you’re curious. Cyndi prefers I don’t post them for the entire world.

I’ll still be hobbling and limping for a few weeks longer, but my toes are straighter, my foot narrower, and I can smell freedom in the air

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32 

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org 

§ “In your fifties, you’ll have a minor surgery. You’ll call it a procedure, but it’s a surgery.” (Mitch Robbins, in City Slickers)

§ I had my own procedure March 30 - a bunion removal and ligament repair on my right foot. It was my first hospital stay since about 1961.

§ My foot didn’t hurt at all, even when I was in the hospital. I suppose there were times when it ached a bit, but the medicine hid any real discomfort. The nurses kept asking my level of pain, between 1 and 10, and I told them a 4 so they would feel good about doing their jobs, but it was actually nothing more than a 3. Or 2.

§ Using the photos I took at my first post-surgery doctor visit, I counted 62 stitches in five places on my right foot. That was a lifetime-high stitch count for me.

§ One benefit to being on crutches: I no longer felt guilty using the handicap stall in my office men’s room.

§ My only real complaint has been awkwardness. It was hard to carry anything when on crutches, but I compensated by using my backpack for everything. About the only thing I wasn’t eventually able to carry was a case of Diet Cokes. I tried pushing a grocery cart by resting my booted foot on the cart and pushing off with my other foot like a scooter, but it was spectacularly unsuccessful. I should stay away from that particular grocery store for a while.

§ I invented a series of stories to describe what happened to my foot, since a friend said I needed a better story: (1) My clumsy wife stepped on my foot during our audition for a dance contest; (2) My foot got caught in a bear trap during my last mountain adventure trail marathon at mile 10 and I had to hop the last 16.2 miles; (3) In a fit of recklessness I tried on my wife’s high steppers and wrecked my trilateral tendon; and (4) I shouldn’t have tried to carry my William Wallace claymore sword on my bicycle.

§ After using an elevator regularly for the first time in years, I wondered: Why, since modern elevators were invented in 1852, was there still no “clear” button in case I selected the wrong floor (or found myself riding with Buddy the Elf).

§ After about four weeks, my foot took on an irritating stinging itch. I blamed the heat inside my boot, or even the glue and strapping tape the doctor used after removing stitches. People tried to convince me that it was part of the healing process. Maybe, but it kept me awake at night.

§ In general, wonder how often we have to go through pain and irritation in order to heal. Is that a constant and predictable part of every process? I expect to go through pain to get better as a runner or cyclist, and I suppose as a politician, writer, or teacher. Maybe all healing, all improvement, requires pain and discomfort along the path.

§ What I’ve missed most is movement, since I can’t run or bike. It didn’t bother me at first, but I soon started to feel like a compressed spring. My last venture was a 24-mile bike ride on Thursday, the day before surgery.

§ My original plan was to do home workouts during the immobile phase, such as sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, and planks. I even had a schedule worked out on paper. However, healing tapped all my energy and I did little actual working out. That surprised and disappointed me.

§ Here is a typical post-surgery doctor visit: He unwraps my foot, pokes it a little bit, wraps it back up with glue and strapping tape and gauze, and sends me home. This happened weekly for six weeks. I suppose any visit when the doctor doesn’t jump back gasping in shock is a good visit.

§ I have been amazed how many people will trot across a parking lot to open a door for a stranger on crutches. It makes me happy for mankind. My sister-in-law, Tanya, says it’s because we live in Midland.

§ After six weeks, Dr. Glass pulled the scary pin-splints out of my toes and removed the remaining stitches. He made me stay in the boot another week so the pinholes would heal. I interpreted that to mean the bones were fine and we were waiting on skin closure, which I then interpolated to walking in my boot without crutches. I didn’t ask the doctor if that was correct because he might disagree. I just acted on my own. I am, after all, a trained engineer.

§ Week seven; my last time to park in a handicap slot was this morning at the doctor’s office. I’m planning to retire my red placard, even though it’s good until October.

§ This morning I walked out of the doctor’s office wearing two shoes, no boot. I drove home, pulled out my Fuji bike, and rode 7.41 slow miles. It was more of a comeback statement than effective exercise. It was wonderful.

§ There is nothing sentimental about setting aside crutches or a boot. It falls in the “good riddance” category.

§ I have photos of my foot: before and after, stitches, pins, etc., and I will email them to you if you’re curious. Cyndi prefers I don’t post them for the entire world.

§ I’ll still be hobbling and limping for a few weeks longer, but my toes are straighter, my foot narrower, and I can smell freedom in the air.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32 

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org